


Turning Points

by hinotoriii



Series: Ghosts of Yesterday [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 14:06:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12683442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hinotoriii/pseuds/hinotoriii
Summary: When Jack ignores Reaper's warnings to avoid heading to his next location, Reaper is forced to make a decision.





	Turning Points

Reaper has been anticipating this moment for what felt like years.

The moment where Jack – or rather, as he'd prefer to have the world now know him as, the vigilante Soldier: 76 – lays upon the ground before Reaper’s own feet. The pulse rifle he always carries with him is too far out of reach, his visor carries a heavy crack across its surface, likely meaning it's now malfunctioning. He is the picture of a lost and wounded animal caught in a dead end by his predator, stumbling as he attempts to find his ground.

It's sad in a way, Reaper thinks, cocking his head to one side as he watches Jack’s movements. He'd warned him not to come here after all, knowing that it wouldn't end well if Jack did.

The old man has always been much too stubborn for his own good though.

Reaper tightens his grip around his shotguns, shaking off any sentimentality that tries to seep into him. Like a shadow he moves, pressing the barrel hard against Jack’s left leg. Before he can hesitate Reapers' finger pulls the trigger.

Jack lets out a pained cry, reaching for the wound with his gloved hand on instinct.

“You should have listened to me,” says Reaper. He's pulling his shotgun back, preparing for the next inevitable shot. “You're always just so _damned_ curious though. Couldn't ignore any opportunity to play a hero.”

“Damn it Gabriel, it's not like I had a _choice,_ ” Jack growls back.

Reaper can see the blood trickling from his wound now, even as Jack tries to press his palm against it. He knows the pain is likely bad, especially since he's hit an old wound. In the dusty recesses of his memory Reaper can vaguely recall the days of visiting Jack during recovery. He can remember Angela scowling at him as he smuggled in Jack's favourite snacks in an attempt to cheer him up, and afterwards how he'd tried to be there for Jack in the difficult days that followed while he went through numerous physiotherapy sessions.

Yes, Reaper knows exactly how much pain the bullet from his calculated shot has likely caused.

“I _gave_ you a choice. You just chose wrong.”

He lifts his shotgun again, this time aiming for Jack's forehead. Jack doesn't move, doesn't even flinch. His brow remains furrowed, beads of sweat forming.

With one shot, Reaper can settle the score between them both at last.

With one shot, he can rid himself of the most painful reminders of his past.

… Yet something catches Reaper's attention before he can pull the trigger once more. A glint, which shines from around Jack’s neck.

At first Reaper thinks it's just a set of dog tags, but then he realises that dog tags don't catch the light in the way whatever has distracted him does. While keeping his gun aimed at Jack’s head Reaper reaches forward, pulling gently at the chain he spots.

It's as if everything hits Reaper all at once. Like a speeding train suddenly crashing in the night, derailing Reaper from every thought, every belief he's carried deep within him ever since he rose from the ashes of Zurich's explosion.

For there, resting amongst the two dog tags Jack wears, are also a set of rings.

_Their_ rings.

Jack's, and Gabriel's.

Reaper lowers his shotgun back to his side. He feels numb all over, bewilderment clouding his thoughts.

So few people even knew they had even been married that Reaper had been certain his ring was lost long ago. That he'd never see it again. He never expected that _Jack_ carried it with him. Especially not after every encounter they've had after.

What the fuck did Jack having both their wedding rings even _mean?_

“You sentimental fool.”

Although he hears himself speak, it's as if someone else is doing so for him. Luckily his mask manages to hide any softness which leaks its way into his voice. He doesn't want Jack to pick up on how shaken he's suddenly become, how confused.

_Fuck._

Despite his inner conflicts, Reaper tries to focus on the reality. On what is currently happening right now.

His mind decides to give him the unpleasant reminder that Jack is literally a walking target.

He's got a price on his head – just like Reaper himself has – the only difference between them both being that amongst the numerous others wanting a piece of him, Talon is also after Jack. It's why Reaper's been sent to this location in the first place, to kill the man who was once Jack Morrison. To murder the old Strike-Commander and prove that any old allegiances he held had long since been buried.

Yet Talon believes such allegiances would only be towards Overwatch as an organisation. They didn't realise that Gabriel Reyes' greatest allegiance was towards his husband. The man who had been in his life far longer than anyone else, who he had once trusted more than anyone else, who he would have once taken a bullet for rather than being the one to pull the trigger on.

Reaper had been so certain Jack had forgotten what they were to one another, that Jack had stopped caring, that he'd finally given up on him the day he decided to leave him left behind to burn -

\- But the more clouded his thoughts become, the more Reaper begins to question if Jack even _had_ left him to die back at Zurich.

Reaper lets out a frustrated sound, letting go of the chain and taking a step back. He looks at Jack, takes in the pitiful state of him …

The sight _hurts him_ to see.

If Jack had only done what he'd said and _stayed away._ Reaper wouldn’t be facing such a predicament like he is now. But when had Jack ever done what he was told? When had he ever made things easy?

“Gabe.”

The sound of his name comes from the earpiece he's wearing. It pulls him back into the moment, reminding him of the seriousness of the situation he's in. He presses a finger firmly to it, almost growling his response across the communicator.

“ _What,_ Sombra?”

“Don't what me. What are you _doing_? Akande and Amélie will be there soon. Figure out what you're doing with 76 and do it quickly!”

Reaper looks around the area surrounding him, before resting his attention back down towards Jack. Beneath his own white mask he grins - a wickedly clever thing - quickly coming to a decision.

“Hack the cameras.”

“Oh no. No no no. Are you fucking _kidding me_ -”

“ _Sombra,_ ” Reaper warns, moving to stand over Jack. Jack turns his head up like he’s staring towards him, and Reaper can imagine the look that's likely burning within his eyes right then.

“What are you -” Jack says, the rest of his words cut off to Reaper by the irritated spanish suddenly feeding in from his earpiece.

“ _Maldito idiota! Tienes alguna idea de lo difícil que será cubrir tus huellas? Estúpido, estúpido!”_

Reaper chooses to ignore the words, knowing that Sombra’s really just ranting to herself more than to him. Instead, he goes to respond to Jack.

“Shut up, and don't make this any more difficult than it already is. Keep pressure on that gunshot wound.”

With difficulty - mostly due to Jack struggling against him - Reaper manages to pick the old soldier up from the ground, cradling him in his arms. Jack continues to squirm – likely out of discomfort from his injuries more than anything else – although Reaper can sense he's beginning to show signs of exhaustion. So much so that they wouldn’t have been fighting much longer even if Jack hadn’t been shot. Reaper notes that he’s also much lighter than he used to be, not to mention thinner.

Despite her swearing Reaper notices Sombra does as he asks, the lights on the security cameras flicking over to red. Knowing her as well as he does by now he expects she's also busy scrambling possible video and audio feeds, mixing up any that show him and Jack's full meeting and only filtering out anything that can read like he's working as instructed.

“There. I can tell you now you have roughly fifteen minutes to get the hell out of there before anyone turns up. My god Gabe, you fucking owe me big time for this.”

“Thought you were dead set on killing me,” Jack says, prompting Reaper to look down at him.

“Don't make me change my mind.”

And with that, Reaper’s form becomes smoke, a blur of movement as he carries Jack to safety.

 

* * *

 

_“We could always retire. Make a home for ourselves either in LA or on a farm somewhere. Hell, I’d go anywhere as long as it was with you.”_

_Gabriel looks up at Jack, something like adoration present in his expression. He breathes out a sigh, reaching for his husbands waist and gently pulling him towards where he’s sitting so he can guide Jack to stand between his legs._

_“Jackie,” He says, wrapping his arms around Jack’s hips. Gabriel’s eyes never leave Jack’s, never stop admiring him. “You and I both know we’d become bored with retirement. Besides, you’ll make a great Strike-Commander. I feel better knowing it’s you taking my old position rather than somebody else entirely.”_

_“It still should_ be _your position though,” Jack frowns, shaking his head. “It pisses me off what the UN’s decided.”_

_“It pisses me off too,” Gabriel replies, reaching up to cup a hand against Jack’s cheek. “But you love Overwatch as much as I do. Knowing that it’s you and Ana calling the shots, that it’s still people in our family? That’s all the matters.”_

_Jack leans into the touch, moving his head slightly so he can press a kiss against Gabriel’s palm._

_“You still haven’t told me what they_ did _offer you.”_

_“Command of the covert ops division. Blackwatch, they’re calling it. Guess I still get to call some of the shots.”_

_“I didn’t even know Overwatch_ had _a covert ops division.”_

_“Well, we do now,” Gabriel says._

_He catches Jack’s uneasy expression, knowing that he likely still feels guilty for being offered the Strike-Commander position. As if it was his fault Gabriel lost it, Gabriel doesn’t know how long it’s going to take until Jack truly understands that he’s not mad at him. Mad at the UN, yes, but never Jack._

_“Think of it this way,” Gabriel continues. “I may not be your SIC, but I will still have your back. Just means that from now on I’ll be officially reporting to you rather than you officially reporting to me. We’ll still be able to work alongside one another.”_

_“Well we_ have _always worked better together…” Jack considers. His frown deepens slightly, however. “Aren’t you worried what people may think about my taking what was once your position? What if they think you resent me for it?”_

_“Let them think what they want. As long as you know the truth, I really don’t give a shit about other people’s opinions.”_

 

* * *

 

He takes them to an old Blackwatch safe house, the place tired and telling in how long it’s been abandoned for. It feels odd to Reaper coming here without his boys - without Jesse trying his damnedest to make him laugh, or furious Genji, constantly at war with his own temper and the feelings towards the cybernetic body he had been given. It feels even stranger bringing Jack to such a place, even if it is the only idea he has at the moment.

He lays Jack down on the only remaining bed, making sure that he’s not resting on the leg he’d shot earlier. Before any words can be exchanged between them Reaper’s form becomes a swirl of smoke once more, and he leaves in search of any medical supplies which may still be hidden within the base.

Reaper manages to find some littered in one of the other rooms, along with a small supply of bandages. It’s enough for the bullet wound at least, although Reaper expects Jack will probably need to find some kind of proper medical attention still. He briefly wonders if Angela even knows that Jack is alive, or if Jack still remains in contact with Ana since their ‘reunion’ in Egypt.

There’s no way in hell he’s letting O'Deorain anywhere near Jack. He just about knows he can trust in Sombra, but as for the rest of Talon? Reaper prefers to keep a fair distance, especially with those amongst Talon’s council.

By the time he returns to Jack it’s to find that he’s managed to set up a small biotic field for his leg wound. His last one, most likely, seeing as Reaper hadn’t noticed any on his person earlier. He makes his way to Jack’s side and lays out the medical supplies on the bed, prompting Jack to turn his head vaguely towards him.

“I need to get to the wound.” Reaper says, keeping very much to the point and his mind focused on the task.

“So you can make it worse?” Jack shoots back.

“No, so I can help fix it.”

“It wouldn’t need fixing, if you hadn’t fucking _shot me_ in the first place.”

From beneath his mask Reaper lets out a sound akin to that of a growl, quickly growing frustrated.

“Stop being stubborn and just let me see it, Jack.”

Jack huffs out a breath, shaking his head wordlessly. Almost miraculously however he does as he’s told for once, moving to carefully pull himself free of his trousers.

The wound is … bad. Reaper had expected as much, given the state  he’s seen other bodies in once they’ve met his shotguns. Spotting the way Jack’s leg is littered with other old scars he doesn’t remember him having before has a wave of guilt suddenly hitting him, although Reaper shoves it deep, deep down with the rest of his growing conflict of emotions. Instead he attempts to start the difficult job of removing the bullet that’s lodged in Jack’s leg.

“Ow, _ow!_ ” Jack hisses, pulling back slightly from Reaper’s touch.

“Damn it, keep _still._ ”

“Not easy to do when your fucking _talons_ are poking me. It hurts enough as it is without you making it worse.”

Reaper mumbles a _‘for fucks sake’_ under his breath, pulling his gloves off. He tries to ignore the state of what his hands look like without them - he’s never liked what the events of the explosion crafted of him.

“It’s still going to hurt like a bitch, so I’m telling you again. Keep. _Still_.”

It’s not the most hygienic way to go about things, but it’s the best he has to work with. For one of the few rare times of his life Reaper is glad for O'Deorain’s experimentation's, as the way he can shift the form of his hand makes it slightly easier to dislodge the bullet.

For the most part Jack allows the help, keeping as still as he can under the circumstances. He sucks in a hiss when the pain is at it’s worse, and each sound manages to dig another guilt crafted knife deeper into Reaper. Again he pushes the feeling down, focusing on the here and now.

He has to, because thinking any further than that feels dangerous right now.

Once the bullet is dislodged Reaper throws it to one side of the room, letting it go forgotten. He inspects the wound, and although it still looks bad Reaper expects that with the mix of the biotic field and the alleviated healing given to them from their SEP days it wouldn’t take too long for the wound to heal up somewhat. So with the few supplies he has Reaper starts cleaning the surrounding area of it, making sure that there’s little chance for infection to set in.

“I really can’t tell what you’re playing at, you know,” Jack finally says while Reaper is busy wrapping the limited roll of bandage around Jack’s leg. When he glances to look up at him it’s to find that Jack has an arm draped over his brow, his gloved hand clenched in tension - likely from the pain. Reaper decides not to respond, instead silently returning to his work.

“You shoot me in the back in Egypt. You threaten to kill me the next time we see each other when we met at Gerard’s grave, and then when we do meet again you shoot me in the leg. Then, just as you’re about to put an end to things and shoot me in the head, you suddenly decide not to?” Jack huffs out a pitiful laugh. “What is it? You either want me dead or you don’t. At the moment it seems you can’t make up your mind.”

Reaper lets a long beat of silence pass between them, before finally replying.

“I warned you not to bother searching the base.”

“See, you keep _saying_ that. But the only threat I ended up finding there was you. I can’t fathom what it was you were apparently warning me against.”

“Of course you can’t,” Reaper says. He’s rising back to his feet, having finished with applying the bandage now, and takes a few steps away from Jack. Once he feels he’s established enough distance between them he crosses his arms over his chest. “You’ve always been blind to what might be happening in the bigger picture of things.”

“Oh no. No, see, we’ve had this discussion before,” Jack attempts to sit up, hissing as he does so. “And I am sick to death of you telling me how _blind_ I am. So you are going to _tell me_ what the hell is going on in that head of yours.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Damnit, Gabriel -”

“I’ve told you before,” Reaper interrupts. “You don’t have the right to call me that anymore.”

“I have as much right to call you by your name as you have to call me Jack,” Jack shoots back, standing his ground. “So stop bullshitting me already. What is it that you _want?_ ”

“When did you start _caring_ about what  _I_ want?”

“I’ve always cared, you god damned idiot!”

“Really?” Reaper deadpans. “You often leave the people you care about to die?”

“For the last time, I _didn’t_ leave you to die! I tried to _save you_ Gabriel, but you were caught under so much rubble, and the flames were getting closer -”

Jack cuts himself off.

Beneath his mask Reaper’s eyes slightly widen. He doesn’t remember that. He has no recollection of Jack trying to save him, and even as he thinks back on the explosion all that comes to mind is agony accompanied by an overwhelming heat. Reaper can briefly recall the sensation of panic building up within his chest, but then -

\- anything else that follows is just a blur. Like most of his memories at around that time it all blends into one big, confusing mess of a lump, and it’s a struggle just to attempt to pull them apart from one another in order to make out any sort of sense from them.

Reaper doesn’t like feeling so bewildered. He likes knowing things clearly, remembering things perfectly.

The explosion at Zurich has always been an exception. It’s like a tender bruise he didn’t like to touch for long, or a box he was too afraid to open in case of what he may find inside. Apparently, given how he seems to have paled to the point of looking almost ill, it’s a subject Jack doesn’t like revisiting either. So Reaper decides to do what he usually does whenever his mind decides to start heading down that particularly messy, dark path of his past.

He avoids facing it entirely.

“Does it look like I’m saved, Jack?”

He can’t stay in the room with Jack, not right now. Not when he’s not sure if he wants to punch him or beg for forgiveness. And he’s still not quite sure why he’s favouring the second option more.

So instead he leaves Jack alone, faintly hoping that in doing so Jack will be smart enough to realise he should probably rest. Reaper has to clean up the mess of this situation he’s now landed himself in by saving Jack’s ass anyway, and he knows with certainty that Sombra’s likely tapping her foot in her chair whilst anxious wanting to hear from him.

Best not to keep the woman waiting.

**Author's Note:**

> \- _Maldito idiota! Tienes alguna idea de lo difícil que será cubrir tus huellas? Estúpido, estúpido!_ \- roughly translates to 'Fucking idiot. Do you have any idea how difficult it will be to cover your tracks? Stupid, stupid!'
> 
> I greatly apologise to any native speakers if the translation is butchered / wrong in any way.


End file.
